


Worth the Wound

by Jaspersfic



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, Munchausens syndrome, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaspersfic/pseuds/Jaspersfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The asset knows that maintenance is better than punishment.  But with Steve, maintenance becomes more pleasant, soft and gentle and everything he could dream of.  It was only natural that he decided to prolong that maintenance a little longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt on the trash meme:  
> "When Steve and Bucky finally do reunite, Bucky has gotten hit by the whump stick so hard it broke, then they went to the back to get another. Metal arm torn off, broken bones, dislocations, burns, starvation/exposure, whatever your sad little garbage heart desires. Bucky needs a lot of attention and at first he's really not happy about it. Extra points if he needs help eating and bathing, at least at the start, so he's really helpless.
> 
> But Bucky finds he really, really likes Steve taking care of him. It's a huge contrast from the way he was used to being treated, and Steve is very affectionate and keeps reassuring Bucky that he's safe. Maybe there's a comforting aspect to knowing that he can't hurt Steve if his programming is triggered. And Steve is clearly happy, even tells Bucky that he's happy, to repay him for all the times Bucky took care of him in the past.
> 
> So Bucky is not at all eager to get better, and sneakily sabotages or denies his own recovery so he can get more attention from Steve. Steve would of course be oblivious, and probably unintentionally enabling, because of Bucky's initial reluctance."  
> Thank you anon!

Everything hurt. The Soldier had got so used to that, after so many beatings, so many violent nights. But he had accepted it. It was necessary. That was what Hydra had taught him, and Hydra didn't lie, ever. Hydra kept him, cared for him, maintained him. When the pain got so bad he was no longer able to function, they would treat it. He accepted that. It was good. It kept him working. That was the most important thing.

Today had been a bad day. After he had failed the mission, well, they'd caught him. He'd abandoned orders. He had rescued the man he was meant to kill, pulled him from the water and put him down on the shore. Pierce was dead.

Pierce had been kind to him at points. He always made sure he was given water, would get him cleaned up when he was too badly beaten, didn't let them put him in the chamber still coated in blood. Pierce had been kind, but now Pierce was dead. The other men who had him now were not kind.

They had beaten him. First with their fists, then with their boots. Then they had pulled out their belts, hit him with them, and then they had took their pleasure from him, telling him softly that he was useful only for this from now on. There was no Pierce to take him down from where they left him tied, no reason for them to give him maintenance.

Only useful things were maintained. Only weapons were helped. He wasn't useful, not now. He was worthless now, because he had failed. He had failed, and Pierce was dead. He understood that was his own fault. He deserved what they were doing to him.  
"There." One of them spat in his face, and another kicked his kidneys. He was bleeding, and he bled worse as one of the men, the one with the scar, the one always beside the commander, grabbed him by the throat and pulled his head back, pressing the blade against his neck before trailing it down to his shoulder, stabbing it into the flesh.

The soldier hadn't been told not to scream. So he howled. They sneered as they twisted the knife, and then more kicks rained down. He felt ribs snap, felt himself bruise and break as they continued. He screamed again as a stun baton was pressed against his arm, making the circuits inside fry as pain ripped through him.

He didn't want to scream. Screaming was weak. But without being told not to, he couldn't make his body obey, and it cried out again and again until his throat was so ripped he couldn't make any more sound.

Time passed.

Sometimes the room was dark and cold. He had no blanket now, no food rations. He wasn't given them now. He was alone aside from the men came in, and they beat him more and kicked him and shoved themselves inside of him. His arms hurt if he tried to move them, and one day the soldier with the scar who had cut him first, who was always with the commander, stamped on his right hand.

They stopped coming, and the soldier lay there on the floor, his brain fuzzy. It felt a little bit like cryo, but it was not the same. His hand and his shoulder were burning and the rest of him was too cold. Improper temperature distribution meant he would not be so functional. He needed maintenance. He needed them to clean him and repair the damage so he could be operational again. He needed them to get him ready for the next mission.

He lay on the floor of the cell, dazed. The room was spinning and his hand and shoulder burned. He was near collapse, gasping softly for air. 

He heard shouting, and cringed. He was no longer strong enough to hide his fear, and more beatings would put him further from being operational.

The door opened and he shielded his eyes. For a moment he thought he saw Pierce there, and then he realised it wasn't him. It was the mission. The mission he had failed, and seeing him again made some of the pain fade away.

"Oh hell... Bucky." The mission murmured, crouching down beside him and holding out his arms. "Oh god..." The mission picked him up, and it held him against his chest. "It's going to be okay." The mission told him. "I'm going to look after you. You are safe now. I'm going to take care of you."

The soldier didn't really understand, but he was aware what that meant. He would be maintained again.


	2. Chapter 2

The mission assigned himself the name Steve, and assigned the soldier the name Bucky. The soldier felt guilt for not recognising the assignation before. He curled up into the mission's arms, letting him carry him. He was too injured to stand.

As he inhaled the air near to the mission, the scent felt familiar. Fragments of memories, of woodland and winter and musty rooms assaulted his brain, and he swallowed dryly.  
"I remember ...I remember snow. And ...Bread. Fresh bread." He wasn't sure why those memories were here, but he reported them like he was meant to.  
"That's good." Steve answered, and the soldier felt confused. He was reporting an error that required maintenance, and the mission was treating it like a successful report.

His confusion must have showed on his face, because the mission brushed his fingers through the soldier's hair.  
"Don't worry about that." He said softly. "We'll talk about it later Bucky, come on, let's get you cleaned up."

The soldier relaxed. That part of maintenance at least was familiar.

It turned out that Steve's view of maintenance was quite different from what the soldier was used to. It wasn't worse, just different. There was no cold water sprayed through a hose. Instead, he seemed to take a more hands on approach.

The mission carried him to a transport vehicle, and other figures crowded round. The soldier flinched, anticipating more pain - a punishment for malfunctioning.   
"Hey, guys, give him some space." Steve ordered, and the other figures moved back again. The soldier was grateful to postpone punishment. That way it could get maintained, and then punished. If the punishment was severe enough, it would require further maintenance.

That would be good. It welcomed the postponement.  
"Bruce." The mission said, and a shy man with kind eyes appeared in the soldier’s sight line. He set about examining the soldier. The soldier tried to hold still.  
"He has a bad fever." Bruce announced. "Severe dehydration. Several bones broken, I'll need to take him to medical for more scans, but ... he needs some fluids right now. I'm going to set up an IV until we get him back."

"Alright." Steve said firmly, and the soldier scanned the group. Steve was the mission lead, and the others followed his orders - even if it appeared the pilot did so somewhat reluctantly. So he was in charge but there was friction within the group. The soldier's survival depended upon him managing to read groups, to know what was wrong and understand their dynamics. It helped ensure that no serious damage occurred.

The mission overcame other thoughts, but he still had to understand what was happening. A tube was attached to his arm, but it didn't make his thoughts blurred or make the pain worse, so he didn't struggle. Then, as the transport continued to move, the mission leaned over him with a damp cloth, and began to gently wash away the dried blood.

That felt pleasant. The soldier could not remember the last time that maintenance had been such an enjoyable experience. It wasn't painful for him to do this, not really. Only a little, when he touched his broken fingers. The blood was wiped away.

When the mission, Steve, moved to wipe between his legs, the soldier froze, tense with fear and pain. He didn't want Steve to see. It was always a bad part of maintenance when they went between his legs. That was often the bit that was most painful.

Steve's eyes widened for a moment, and then a calmer expression settled on his face, and he rested a hand on the soldier's hip.  
"It's going to be okay. I'm sorry if this hurts."  
Then, a soft cloth wiped between his legs, and he gasped softly.

"Is it okay?" Steve asked.  
"I am going to need to take some time to recover full movement in my injured hand and then I will be fully functional if the arm can be repaired."  
"I mean, is it painful?" Steve asked.

The soldier knew that normally people wanted to hear that it was hurting, but Steve's gentle touches implied perhaps he wanted an different answer.  
"No."  
"Good." Steve smiled at him. "You're going to be okay Bucky. We'll get that hand fixed up, your arm too. Don't worry about anything. I've got you, you’re safe."

"Thank you Steve." The soldier answered softly. He knew that Steve would manage to help maintain him. Whilst Steve's method of maintenance was different from what he was used to, it was not unpleasant, and he was glad for it.

"It's alright Bucky. You're all cleaned up now right?"  
The soldier nodded, and Steve smiled.   
"Just get some rest okay Buck? When we get back, we'll sort out your hand."

Another nod, and then the soldier closed his eyes. The initial cleansing part of maintenance had been completed, and it had not been painful. The soldier couldn't help hoping that the rest of the work would also be easier than he was used to.

It was foolish to hope such things, especially with his mind malfunctioning, but Steve's hands were warm.


	3. Chapter 3

The soldier had closed his eyes on board a transport, and had fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes again he was in a maintenance room - not one he recognised, but with enough implements he recognised scattered around the place to confirm his location. There were various machines beeping, and wires attached to his chest. He was careful to keep his breathing slow, to concentrate on the sensation of ice. That kept his beeps from coming too close together. If they got too close, he might be punished.

"You back with us?" Steve asked, resting a gentle hand on Bucky's arm. The soldier was learning to think of himself as that particular designation. It made life simpler when he thought the way that they wanted him to. He was Bucky, this was Steve, group leader. Standing looking at the machines was the man identified as Bruce who had examined him earlier. 

Bucky's flesh hand felt heavy, and glancing down he saw that it was bandaged. He swallowed dryly, and glanced up at the two of them, wondering if he had done something wrong that would cost him his remaining hand.  
"We're just setting the broken bones Buck." Steve reassured him, a gentle hand resting on his head, fingers running through his hair. It felt good. He closed his eyes to focus on the sensation, smiling to himself. 

"You're going to be better in a week or so Bucky. But I'm going to take such good care of you until you're able to do stuff for yourself." Steve promised, his eyes hard. Bucky had a vague recollection of Steve standing in front of a group of men, using the same firm tone in his voice. When Steve spoke like that, men would kill and die for him.

Steve was looking almost hopeful, and it took Bucky a second to realise that he was waiting for Bucky to agree. He nodded quickly, flashing a soft smile at Steve.  
"I can try and be functional sooner."  
"You take as long as you need Bucky." Steve told him firmly, and Bucky nodded. He felt tired, and as he looked around he realised just how many tubes were running in and out of his body.

"It's to hydrate you." Bruce said. Bucky frowned, trying to understand what Hydra had to do with the liquid. Steve smiled and shook his head.  
"It's so you're not so thirsty. See, you have to stay here tonight, for Bruce and Jarvis - Jarvis is the AI, don't worry about that right now - to monitor you, and then when that's done we'll be able to move you up to my floor and start work on your recovery." 

"Do I need further maintenance? I am having memory flashes." Bucky reported.  
"That's really good Bucky. It's alright, I know you can't remember everything right now, but you'll get there."  
"Everything?" Bucky asked slowly, thinking of what he could remember of missions that went badly, of punishments he had deserved but been glad to forget.  
"Probably, and even if not, I'm going to stick by you." Steve paused. "You must be tired. Get some rest okay, I've got some files we found to read over."  
Bucky fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that soon Steve would know how to maintain him properly. He was sure all the important information would be within the files, it might just take a little searching. He was reluctant to have Steve know every detail, but it was necessary. That way he could be properly maintained.

After failing Pierce, he was concerned that the punishment regime would start again, that he would be locked in that room aside from being hurt. Maybe the files would teach Steve that.  
"I am sorry." He murmured. "I'm so sorry."  
"You're good." Steve told him softly. "We're going to fix this." That promise was enough to set the soldier to sleep once more.

The soldier, codenamed Bucky, woke after an unknown amount of time to the sound of shouting. He lay with his eyes closed and breathing controlled, trying to make out the words.  
"It's sick - they tortured him and-"  
"You need to support him, you-"  
"-and pictures of it. They told him they were helping him-"  
"-go in there like this and - frightened - not going to trust you."  
"I have to see him."  
"Not until you've calmed down." Bruce said firmly, and a door slammed closed. Bucky lay still until Bruce returned.

"Hey there soldier. How are you feeling?"  
"I am functional."  
"Tony's working on a replacement arm, and Steve's been trying to find out more about what's happened. Let me take a look at that hand."

Bucky was relieved to discover that beneath the bandages there were still fingers. After he had been examined, he was fed a warm soup, and his hair was brushed. He was enjoying this maintenance, and was grateful that Steve had allowed it. He was enjoying being maintained by the team now. It was much more pleasurable than punishment, or running missions.

While aware that punishment would come eventually for his failures, for the flashes in his mind which didn't belong, the soldier felt a faint glimmer of hope. It could continue to need maintenance, and avoid punishment a little longer. Such a thought was bad, but it made a solid warmth form in his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky was intelligent. It wasn't always obvious, especially not after the wipes, but he was able to complete advanced calculations in his head, speak multiple languages, memorise dozens of people's preferences and fire a wide range of weaponry. He was a tool, but he wasn't mindless. He could make a plan, and that was what he had done here.

Steve had said a week. Steve had told him he had a week of maintenance before he was expected to recover, and after this first night he would be relocated. After the first night, Steve would have looked after the files. He could only assume that the shouting was a sign Steve had completed the files, although he couldn't understand what it was that had made Steve shout. 

That meant that Steve knew about all the maintenance procedures. All the tenderness from before might be gone now. Maybe that was why he was angry. He looked around the maintenance room. He wished he had his metal arm, or even his human hand, but there was neither. He had to find a way to need more maintenance.

He scanned the room. There were the plug sockets, but triggering electricity would be too challenging. If he had his hands he could steal a blade but he didn't, so such thoughts were beside the point. He could fall, but that was unpredictable. He knew from past missions that head injuries could make him erratic. His gaze rested on a row of bottles above his reach. Toxic chemicals might work. They could ensure he needed maintenance. 

Memorising the locations of the bottles, he was trying to work out how exactly he could get one when the door opened.  
"Hey Buck." Steve's voice was gentle, softer than it had been before, but definitely kind. "Bruce said you woke up at the shouting last night. Sorry." Steve looked almost awkward.

"Was the maintenance information of use?" Bucky asked. "I can explain some processes if you require it, but I am unable to provide full information on the wipes."  
"No." Steve's voice was firm. "No more ...no..." The voice cracked for a second, then continued just as firmly. "No brain washing. No more wipes."

"But I need maintenance." Bucky argued, knowing he was probably going to get punished worse for that. What he hadn't expected was for Steve's face to get kinder at that moment, for him to reach out and rest a hand on either side of Bucky's bandaged one.  
"You do. Okay, you need some medical treatment, but proper treatment, not what they gave you. You are going to get better Buck, I promise. We're going to take you up to my place now, that's right isn't it Bruce?"

Bucky felt a little startled that he had been unaware they had company. The doctor was quiet, but he nodded.  
"If that's what you want Bucky."  
"Of course it is. I want to get back to full functionality." Bucky said. It wasn't entirely a lie. He didn't like the part of maintenance that happened in bedrooms, but it was necessary, and he had some faint memories of maintenance with Steve in the past not being bad, not even if they were in bed.   
"We'll get you better Buck." Steve promised, and the next thing Bucky knew he was being positioned in a wheeled chair, taken away from all the promising chemicals and instead up to Steve's room.

Steve's room wasn't what he had expected, did not match the faint memory he had of a grainy floor and dirty walls. It was big, and there was a kitchen with a kettle, and off of it there was a room with a sofa. Further in there were two bedrooms and a bathroom that connected them. Steve hesitated, stopping pushing the chair for a moment.

"You want to stay in my room or have your own space?" He asked, and Bucky frowned.  
"I believe maintenance would be easier if we were in the same room..."  
"Oh Buck..." Steve sounded pained, and pressed a kiss to Bucky's forehead. "That wasn't maintenance. I'm sorry. They were hurting you."  
"They were making me better."  
"You'll get better." Steve promised. "You'll get better, it'll just take a little while."  
"You said a week."

"Probably about that." Steve agreed. "Look, you stay here, and I'll get you some water." With that, Steve headed into the bathroom, and Bucky thought he heard retching before Steve returned with a glass of cold water he handed to him. Steve's maintenance was very good, and did not require him to go thirsty for long. Bucky was more determined than ever to prolong it.

He looked around the room. One thing Hydra had been sure to teach him was how to use all kinds of everyday objects for torture or as improvised weaponry. He was sure he could find things here to help him on his project, even if the options were not as expansive as they had been in the maintenance lab.


	5. Chapter 5

The first night wasn't what Bucky had expected. None of the normal maintenance took place. Instead, he was held against Steve's chest, and Steve's fingers slowly brushed through his hair, soft praise whispering through the space between them. In Steve's eyes he was doing well, and Bucky was grateful for that. Bucky was grateful, even though he couldn't understand it. Steve was holding him close, and it felt nice. It felt better than maintenance before, and he was glad to have him nearby. Bucky started to fall asleep, and soon he was resting against Steve. He wasn't in trouble, not right now. Maintenance was going well.

In the morning, Steve's fingers brushed gently through his hair and he felt safe. He felt secure. He looked up at him, and Steve smiled brightly.  
"How are you feeling?"  
"My hand is still sore." Bucky whispered, his voice shaky, a little afraid of being found out. It hurt much less than it had done. But Steve just reached for it, and his fingers skimmed the bandages as gently as air.

"We can get it sorted." Steve promised. "But first off, lets get you a bath, okay?"   
Bucky nodded. He would agree with anything that Steve wanted for him. He was left lying in the comfortable bed while Steve went to sort out the bath. The bed was nice, felt like a cloud, but it was better with Steve there. 

Warm arms returned, and he looked up at Steve to find him smiling down at him. "Hey..." Bucky greeted him softly.  
"Hey Buck." Steve smiled. "Come on, let’s get you into the bath..." He let Steve undress him without complaint, feeling a link to what he had known before. It was something familiar, from a lifetime ago. He was lifted and placed into the water.

The water was warm, better than the hose, and Steve undressed before climbing in beside him, wrapping around him.   
"Careful... that's it, hand out of the water..."  
Bucky obeyed the instructions, letting Steve wash him. He was so gentle, and Bucky was careful to memorise every moment of the contact between them. He would try and seal it deep enough inside his mind that it couldn't be wiped away.

"You're safe now Bucky." Steve promised, and Bucky tried to twist towards him, before whimpering slightly at the pain.  
"I...I'm sorry. I'm being a burden." That was true. He wanted to be looked after, but it was asking too much of Steve. He had no right to ask for such kindness. Anyway, he had a recollection of looking after Steve, not being looked after. This was wrong.

"I don't mind Bucky." Steve said softly. "I'm happy. You always used to take care of me. This is my chance to repay you for that..." He was smiling brightly, and continuing to be gentle.

He was picked out from the bath eventually, and wrapped in soft towels, before lying down on the bed once more. Steve was sketching, and talking gently to Bucky. It was a wonderful day, and just before dinner Steve carefully unwrapped Bucky's hand, replacing the bandages.  
"That's healing really well Bucky." Steve said softly, and Bucky tried to hide his disappointment. After dropping that bombshell, Steve went to cook, leaving Bucky alone. 

Bucky glanced around his room, wanting to try and find something that he could use to stop his arm healing. With two hands, he could have slammed his fingers in the drawer, but as it was he was temporarily unable. There was a letter opener on the desk, but it wasn't sharp enough to do much harm. 

Steve's art set. That was the place to look. He went straight to Steve's drawers, trying to lever it open, and then finding the blade that Steve would use to sharpen his pencils. He picked the blade up using his mouth, and lined up the metal with the back of his wrist. That would cause injury, mean he needed more maintenance, but not kill him. He slammed the knife into the back of the wrist, pulling it across and then letting the blade slip from his mouth as blood welled up.

Crimson soaked through the bandages, and he stood still, careful not to let any of the blood spill onto Steve's carpet. The door opened, and Bucky heard Steve cry out. Steve raced to him, gripping his arm firmly.  
"What happened?"  
Bucky tried to pull away from his grip, but it hurt and he went limp, letting Steve lift him and carry him to Bruce once more.

"Why Bucky?"  
"Wanted to get the bandages off." Bucky lied, his heart racing. "Sorry..."   
"It's okay. Just ask. Just ask..." Steve kept saying, and Bucky mentally cursed himself for being so weak. He should have been more subtle. 

But when Steve had picked him up, he hadn't wanted to go with him. He had tried to fight, and Steve had overpowered him, and he realised that he couldn't hurt Steve. This made him want to keep maintenance going for even longer. It didn't just help him. It helped Steve as well. 

Steve fed Bucky, praised him, and carried him to bed. He fell asleep in Steve's arms, determined not to make the same mistake again. If he was going to prolong maintenance, he couldn't let Steve find out what he was doing.


	6. Chapter 6

It was hard. Steve was gentle and so patient, and Bucky was grateful for that. He wasn't happy about the cut to Bucky's arm, but he seemed to believe that it had been an accident. There had been no punishment for what he had done.

Bucky had been taken to Tony's lab, and measured for a new metal arm, but for now he was enjoying the freedom from the weight. Steve had said his new arm would be lighter and less painful, but it would mean he needed less help. He knew he would miss that contact when it went. 

Tony enjoyed examining him. He had blabbered on about how Bucky "was going to get an arm even better than a normal one" and how "terrible that old arm is, really I can do better in my sleep, but I'll make you something better."  
Bucky had stammered his thanks, and Steve had stayed close by, stopping Tony from becoming too carried away with what he was doing.

"I can make a good arm in a week." That had been Tony's parting shot, and it stung.

There were no more attempts at cutting himself. The knife blades had been hidden, and anyway it was too blatant - too likely to draw Steve's attention, and get him punished rather than maintained. He was spending all his time with Steve, and often Steve carried him. It was comforting to be held against Steve, and that helped stop him from worrying too much. 

When he wasn't carried, he was unsteady on his feet. That had been useful. He'd fallen down the stairs twice, both times just down half a flight or so. His legs and chest had been bruised, and his fist had ached, especially as he managed to slam his hand into the floor a couple of times before Steve reached him and pulled him close.

Steve watched him carefully, stroked his hair and praised him. Maintenance wasn't like it had been with Hydra. This was much better. 

Now he was sat on a bench, watching Steve train. Steve was currently slamming his fists into a punching bag, fierce and aggressive, but after a moment he pulled away and twisted to look at Bucky. His expression was soft, kind. Steve looked at him like that a lot, and he cherished every moment of it.

"How are you feeling?"  
"Good." Bucky answered. "You are so good at training. I could train with you if you want."  
"Not until your hand is better." Steve answered, something he had heard many times before. Bucky nodded and rested against the bench still, leaning back against the wall behind him.

A footstep to his left made him swing around, and he gasped as he found Natasha standing near to him, watching him with bright eyes. He hadn't realised that she was even in the room, but now here she was.  
"You shouldn't creep up on people." He murmured softly. She simply flashed a bright smile at him, and then took another step forwards.

Her body pitched forwards, arms twisting through the air, panting and her eyes wide with fear. In a split second Bucky jumped up and caught her on the one arm he had, supporting her weight with his shoulder. 

They looked into each other's eyes, and slowly Natasha smiled. Bucky stepped backwards again, but she followed him, sitting beside him and resting a hand on his knee.  
"You've been falling."  
"It happens. I've not got my prosthetic on."  
"And you are being clumsy." She said firmly. He couldn't quite work out how to protest that, found it hard to argue with her. Hydra had taught him not to ever answer back, and it was something that he hadn't learned to disobey. Instead, he turned his face to the ground.

"Do you want to die Bucky?"  
"No!" Bucky said quickly, then frowned. "I don't...why would I want to die? Steve's doing such a good job of maintaining me. He's taking care of me, he's a really good man and he says he doesn't mind helping. I want… I want to live.”

Her eyebrow raised, and she looked him up and down in silence, then leaned in and whispered to his ear.  
"Be careful with what you are doing. You are playing a dangerous game." 

His heart was hammering in his chest as she stood and walked away. She had found out. His secret had nearly been exposed, and he was clearly not being subtle enough. 

In front of him, Steve was still punching the bag, focused on the movement. He hadn't even realised that Natasha had been in the room.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been a week since Steve had found Bucky, and his life was so much better than he could ever imagine. No mention had been made of punishment, there had been no threats. Instead, he was taken care of. He was well looked after, and the maintenance was ongoing. Alongside the medical examinations, and regular scans from the AI, he was being looked after by Steve.

Steve was helping him. Steve was making sure he gained weight, that he exercised healthily, that he was happy. He helped Bucky to wash, and carried him when necessary. The downside of this was that while Bucky had been trying not to heal, it hadn't been working. 

Examinations from Steve happened multiple times a day. They weren't rough or violating, but instead the bandage around his hand and around his chest were peeled away to show dark bruising, and an antiseptic cream would be smeared on his skin. Then more bandages were placed over the injuries. It was undeniable, every time that Steve peeled back the bandages, the bruises were less dark. They were fading, and his shoulder - the one without an arm attached - had apparently healed to the point where he could soon have the prosthetic fitted. As soon as Tony completed his work on designing it.

The maintenance period would soon be at an end. Then would come punishment, and then either further maintenance or a wipe, and then the ice. Normally it was the punishment that he feared - the agony that would course through him with whatever they wanted. But now what terrified him was the ice. The realisation that once he was taken to that chair, or placed in the ice, his memories of Steve would be destroyed. When he woke up again, he might not have any recollection of any of this maintenance. That was his biggest fear.

He had to keep being maintained. He knew that. He understood that. He had to keep Steve's attention on him, to make sure he was kept safe. Every chance he got - every time he was alone, he would punch the wall, time after time. He tried to run shoulder first into the wall, to stop the socket from being suitable to attach the prosthesis.  
"Sergeant Barnes, if your actions continue I will inform Captain Rogers." The AI told him, and from then on he didn't target the joint. 

Punching the wall helped take the hardest edge off the pain in his mind, and kept him focussed on reality rather than thinking of the past, the flashes of memory that he couldn't place but left him shaking. 

Steve was down in the gym, training, and Bucky was slamming his hand into the wall again and again, hoping it would bruise his fingers worse. His breath came in hurried gasps. He felt almost trapped. He punched harder and harder, until the bursts of pain in his fingertips left him unable to think and he collapsed, falling forwards into the dark.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice called him back to reality, and he was picked up. His breath came faster, but he cuddled up to Steve's side, sat on the sofa together.

"What happened?"  
"Fainted. My hand hurts and that caused me to lose consciousness." Making such an admission of weakness to Hydra would lead to punishment, but Steve was being so patient that Bucky felt it was worth being honest to him. 

"Let me see..." Steve gently unpeeled the bandages, hissing at the bruised skin. "It looks nasty Buck. You must have hit it when you fell."  
"Sorry." Bucky mumbled, looking down. He shivered, and Steve squeezed his shoulder. 

"It isn't your fault Buck. Not at all. None of this is your fault." Steve's voice was soft and reassuring, and Bucky relaxed his shoulders and leaned against him. They fell asleep like that, cuddled together, their legs intertwined.

Bucky started to sweat, Steve's face morphing into Pierce's. He chuckled and wrapped his hand around Bucky's throat, sneering down at him.   
"You're a fool. You will never be wanted here. You are a failure. You are a failure and you do not deserve to live." The hand tightened, and Bucky woke with a scream, thrashing.

"Easy..." Steve called him to wakefulness, resting his hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezing gently but firmly. "Bucky?" Steve's eyes were wide, and his skin pale. He was frowning down at him, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Are you alright?"

"Just a bad dream."  
"You're safe now." Steve promised him tenderly. "You are safe."  
"Thank you. I wish they would stop." Bad dreams were a sign he needed the chair, but all of Steve's treatment so far had been kind. He couldn't help hoping that maybe he would find some way of carrying out this piece of maintenance that wouldn't take all of his memories.

"Wish I could stop them." Steve sighed. "You want to try and sleep again?"

Bucky knew the correct answer was yes, so he nodded, closing his eyes and settling back down. It wasn't long for the nightmares to return - this time he saw Natasha in the outfit she had worn a lifetime ago, standing in front of Steve and reading off a list of his failures, as Steve looked more and more angry. She was detailing every failure - those from his life here, and then further back, mistakes he had made in Hydra, and then further back still, every time he had failed Steve when they were children. He could hear Steve's voice, telling him that he was going to give him back to Hydra. He whimpered, and the arms holding him tightened once more.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a warmth around Bucky as he slowly woke, and he breathed softly, enjoying the scent, taking in the gentle familiarity of Steve's body. Steve made him feel secure, and he relaxed slowly, smiling to himself. He was comfortable there, cuddling up closer to Steve's chest.

He felt completely comfortable where he was. There was no pain now, no fear, and he smiled softly.

His thoughts clicked into place. There was no pain. No pain at all. His hand wasn't hurting. That thought made his heart hammer in his chest, left him gasping for air as nausea built inside of him. He was getting the prosthetic fixed today. Steve had been excited about that last night, and now his hand was no longer agony.

This was bad. This was the end of his time with Steve, the end of the two of them being close and the chance of him to return to his role as a weapon. Every precious moment from the past few weeks ended now, and he would lose his chance at maintenance. He wouldn't get to enjoy contact with Steve. Now he no longer needed maintenance, he had to face whatever punishment he dreamed up, and then there would be worse to come.

It had been good, while it lasted. Bucky wanted to be calm. If he calmed himself, he could relax and try to cling to these few precious memories that he had, but it wasn't going to be enough. Being healed ended all the good things that he had. Being healed meant that his life was over.

He had to need more maintenance. 

Steve's arms were around him, but Steve was more deeply asleep now, and his grip had relaxed. It was loose enough for Bucky to squirm out of his hold. Steve was a heavy sleeper, as long as the person he was beside didn't make a sound, so Bucky was able to get out of the room without disturbing him.

He had to do this quickly. If anyone caught him when he was healed, that was the end of it. There would be no more chocolate, no more hair stroking or warm beds or Steve's embrace. There would be pain, and the mission.

Before, the pain and the mission had been all he needed. But not anymore. 

He made his way to the wall at the far end of the apartment, and threw a punch at the wall, as hard as he could. Pain shot through him, jarring his shoulder and making agony explode through his fingertips. He bit his lip to stay quiet, punching again, as hard as he could. He could feel the bones crunching beneath the force of the blow.

A third blow and red began to soak through the bandages. He wasn't going to heal. He refused to get better when getting better came at such a high price. Each blow made tears well up unwanted in his eyes, his mouth filled with the taste of iron, but he kept hitting, again and again. He had to prolong maintenance. It didn't matter what else happened. As long as he got a few more days in Steve's arms. The pain he was in now would be nothing to what was coming, and that thought made him hit harder.

He noticed that the concrete beneath his fist was cracked, dust circling through the air, speckled with pink. Blood was running now, hot and wet from inside the bandages, leaving him feeling uncomfortable, reminding him of things he would rather forget. 

He spat the blood from his mouth, and continued to bite down on his lip. He couldn't risk being found out by making a noise. The pain was getting worse but he couldn't stop. He had to prolong maintenance. He had to. He. Had. To. Each thought was punctuated by another slam of his fist into the wall.

He pulled his arm back again, and it stopped. He squirmed for a moment, trying to pull free from whatever he had become caught on, before looking around and seeing Steve staring down at him. Steve's eyes were wide and sad, and his hands were gentle as he guided Bucky away from the wall.

As he stumbled along with Steve, Bucky caught sight of his own reflection in the glass. He had one arm, blood running down his chin, hair dishevelled and eyes wild. He would be taken to the chair now, and it would all be his own fault. He had been the one to make the mistake. He had been the one to get caught.

He sat on the sofa when directed, his skin feeling hot and too small against him.   
"Look at me Buck." The words were gentle, but Bucky could recognise an order when he heard one. He lifted his head.

Steve's eyes weren't cold or angry. Instead there was a dampness to them, and his voice was so soft that it startled Bucky. Like you would talk to a wounded animal, not a human. Bucky's heart sank, knowing this would be the end of it. That after this, things would never be alright again. The punishment when it came would be worse than ever, and it was his own fault.

"What happened Buck?"


	9. Chapter 9

The words hung in the air between them, and Bucky licked his lips, wondering where to start. Whatever he said would lead to punishment. He knew that. He deserved to be punished, had been a weak fool to try and escape it, but he was still afraid.

"Come on Buck, what happened?" Steve's words were gentle, cajoling. He wanted Bucky to incriminate himself. Bucky licked over his bleeding lip. The flow had already begun to dry up.

"I was concerned because my arm had stopped hurting. I didn't want to be punished and so like a cowardl-" He stopped himself before saying cowardly American, cleared his throat and carried on. "Like a coward, I tried to escape the punishment I was due. I thought that if I injured myself, you would continue to maintain me."

"Maintain you?" Steve queried, his words gentle but anger audible beneath them. He was furious. Bucky could tell that, and it made his mouth dry up. "What do you mean by that?"

"I thought that if I was injured you would be forced to continue caring for me although I was a burden. It was a foolish mistake. But I..." For a moment boldness flared in Bucky, and he gave it a voice. "I'm not sorry I did it. It's been good. So good. And thank you. I'll take my punishment now." 

He braced himself for a blow, watching Steve's face contort with rage before he reached out, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

Bucky wasn't sure if he was going to be strangled, or slowly crushed to death. That wouldn't have surprised him at all. He would have accepted it. That sounded quite nice in his mind, the thought of being held by Steve as he breathed his last. It was kinder than he deserved.

His back was rubbed gently, and he whimpered, his brain slowly registering what was happening. This wasn't punishment. This was an embrace. This was a part of maintenance. Steve knew the truth, and he wasn't stopping maintenance immediately. Bucky whimpered as the arms continued to hold him, rubbing his back and soothing him softly.

"When you fell?" Steve pried.  
"I was trying to continue maintenance. That was behind the punching of the wall, the falling..." For a moment he hesitated, then he swallowed and he continued. "And the cut to my hand."

"I see." Steve said softly, his voice painfully calm. Bucky had confessed all of his crimes. Whatever punishment was coming now, he had earned it, and much worse. All the time he was being held, he had to be grateful for it. A squeeze to his hand made him look up in fear, but Steve's eyes were still damp and kind.   
"Let me look at your lip?" Steve asked. Obediently, Bucky opened his mouth, and Steve examined his lip before letting go of it and nodding.

"It's healing." Steve said, his voice firm. "It is healing. We're going to get this fixed. Nothing is going to stop me from looking after you. We'll get your arm fixed..." Steve was rocking Bucky as he spoke, holding him tight.

"If I get my new arm I could hurt you if I lash out." Bucky admitted, looking down at the floor. Looking at Steve's eyes made his mind hurt.   
"I'll find a solution." Steve told him gently. "I will look after you."   
"Okay." Bucky swallowed. "But I still need to be punished..."  
"You..." Steve sighed and kissed his forehead. "What you need is to ..." There was a pause, and the arms squeezed tighter for a moment before continuing. "To get better. Not to be punished. You need to ...to get help. You're going to talk to Sam, he's good with cases like this. He'll help you."

Sam. Bucky remembered Sam from his initial fight, when he had first seen Steve again. He had been hurt, and it was Bucky's fault. Maybe Sam was there to punish him. But Steve wouldn't hurt Bucky, not for no reason. He’d said there was no punishment, and losing Steve would be the worst punishment, worse even than he deserved. Steve knew what he was doing. Only one solution made sense.  
"Is... is he part of my maintenance?"

"Yeah." Steve said softly. "Yeah, he is." Bucky looked up, and saw that Steve's eyes were damp, eyelashes clogged together. A few drops were running down his face, but Steve looked into his eyes and when he spoke, his voice was kind. "He's going to be helping me maintain you. It's going to be ongoing maintenance, until you're better. I don't know how long it...I don't know if you will get well, but I'll support you the whole way. It's going to be okay... you have support..." Steve closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Bucky's own and continuing to talk. "You have maintenance. I promise. You have maintenance."

Steve looked sad, but Bucky was so happy that he couldn't stop himself smiling. All of his dreams were coming true, and now he would carry on being maintained. He just wished Steve could be happy as well about the fact that maintenance wasn't ending. Maybe in time he would understand. This was the best thing that could have happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from Sherlock Holmes!


End file.
